


door's yellow, broken blue (canyon moon)

by walkinginthewinds



Category: Harry Styles - Fandom
Genre: Cute, Dad Harry, Family values!!, Fine Line, Fluff, Kidfic, Loneliness, Single Father Harry, a little sad, canyon moon, father harry, lol hes not a priest doe, mostly happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:13:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21842746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkinginthewinds/pseuds/walkinginthewinds
Summary: Inspired by Canyon Moon, single father Harry and a yellow door and never enough socks.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	door's yellow, broken blue (canyon moon)

There was a line between comfort and discomfort, and Harry had begun to reach the very end of it, where the edges become frayed and worn and ready to be tossed into the bin. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept in his own bed. He had spent night after night in different hotel rooms, on the couches of his friends’, in the home of his mother’s. He was happy enough seeing family and moving this way and that, but there was a point where living out of a suitcase did not suit anyone. His back constantly ached due to the fact that he was away from his tempurpedic mattress, and he was losing a new sock every day. He was sure his credit balance was simply, well, socks. 

Normally-healthy meals were now microwave suppers and morning coffees that were usually cold by the time he was able to drink them. His mornings were taken up of checking emails for breakfast and taking phone calls for tea. There was exhaustion behind his eyes, in his under-eye bags that hung low on his sharp cheekbones. The bottle of water beside his bed constantly needed to be refilled.

He wasn’t unhappy; because he had spent so much time away from his family and from London, and he was blessed and happy to have so many people willing to open up their hearts, and their homes, for him. But he grew tired of waking up in a new place, trying to figure out new showers and mapping out his nightly runs so he wouldn’t get lost - which did happen one time, and he didn’t arrive home until a quarter past eleven after leaving the house shortly after nine.

There was something nice, however, about who he came home to after hours and days of meetings and promotions and lunches - it was his daughter. Two years old, the absolute image of himself from a curly head of hair to slightly-crooked fingers and toes. He felt terrible bringing her to and fro, falling asleep on his shoulder or his hip as he discussed calendars and font sizes of promotional emails; or trying to make sure she was warm enough when traveling in town cars; making sure he brought changes of clothes for her in his carry-on bag, already bulky on his heavy shoulders. So he made the difficult decision to take a week away from home, away from his daughter. He knew this would be the longest time he would ever spend away from her, that she was in good hands at his mothers, but none the less, he was uncomfortable without her 

He walked with a bit of a stoop; no fault of his. Perhaps constantly being slung with the world on his shoulders caused a definitive droop in his character over the years, one that he never showed through open doors when the tears from the past night had dried and the empty cups of tea had been put away to wash. He knew his mother worried about him on these nights especially, when he would call or come home looking worse for wear.

Sometimes on these nights he would put his face in his daughter’s hair, letting her downy curls fill his mouth and his senses as she squeezed his arms, chubby hands wrapped around his neck, because she didn’t realize he needed her just as much as she needed him. Harry would sleep with his daughter beside him most nights, if she wasn’t in her small bedroom down the hall from his - on these nights he always slept with the door open, in case she came in, and she usually did. He would wake up with a tiny foot shoved in his rib, his daughter curled around him, lips pink from sleep and back of her eyelids as lavender-colored as his in the morning light. 

His family and friends tried to give him “breaks”; sometimes someone would take his daughter for the night or his sister would take her out during the day, allowing Harry to rest, because if he worked eighteen-hour days doing album-work, he spent the other six hours and more being a father. Because he was lonely, he really was, and they were worried for him. Harry was lonelier than usual when he was away, surrounded by people and friends but still lonelier than ever. The feelings creeped in sometimes when he couldn’t sleep, and he was thankful for the work to shake it out of him - but this isn’t about his melancholy. 

Today he was in Los Angeles, and she was across the world, hopefully asleep at his sister’s home, their cat protective at the foot of the bed. He had been out all day, the hot sun of the city browning his skin, turning the tips of his hair blonder as they usually became in the hotter summer months. His arms were getting larger due to more time spent in the gym over the last few days, his extra energy being worked toward fitness. He would fall asleep in the early hours of the morning and wake up only a few hours after the sun rose, making his days long and his nights minimal. He was not ungrateful, but there was a certain point where you just wanted to go _home._

The door to his London home was painted yellow, the walls of his kitchen blue, with a checkerboard floor. Some of his friends said it looked like the home of a sitcom; but he loved it. Dreary as the weather could be, he kept the sunshine locked up inside his house, nothing able to filter out of the keyhole to the front door. He had picked up sunflowers for his mother, teabags and strawberries for his daughter, and some sweet chocolate for after they had their supper the next day, however maybe he would allow her to have some in the morning when the excitement wore off after she would wake up to her father being there, being home.

His plane landed at a quarter to one in the morning. The reminder of the chill of winter London made him grateful he had decided last minute to bring his dark green parka, putting it on over his low-key light jeans and hoodie, trying to blend in even from the sharpest of eyes at this time of the night.

He took the familiar route home, happy to be in the comfort of his quiet car, phone permanently silenced now, heat on and music on low, the calm instrumentals flooding every corner of his ears and his car. Harry pulled up to the drive, pushing the code in for his gate - a new and necessary development to his home, even though it made him feel a bit like a zoo animal; his daughter was in the _let’s-explore-the-yard_ phase and he needed her to at least come home after these excursions. It was nearing half past two, and he could see the light on in the kitchen. He swallowed a lump in his throat, remembering late nights with his ex partner in that very kitchen, quiet kisses and dances in the moonlight and trying very carefully not to tread on each other’s toes, using the light of the fridge for dramatic affect. He switched off his headlights as he parked his dusty Range Rover, exhaling slowly as he grabbed his carry-on; leaving his suitcase of dirty clothes and his laptop for tomorrow - this wasn’t a night for e-mails. Harry walked up the front drive, unlocking the front door, smiling softly at the pink handprint that was his daughter’s plastered underneath the knob from over the summer. He remembered picnics in the yard with his friends, his girl balancing on his chest as a tiny baby, wide blue eyes and blonde hair that rivaled Harry’s when he was as small as she was now.

Careful to open the door, he slid his bag off his shoulder, leaving his now-silent phone in the side pocket. “Hi,” he called out softly, feeling movement as his mother came out of the kitchen where she was clearly up awaiting his return - sometimes she got nervous for him, no matter how old he got. Swallowing this feeling as well - there was a lot of repressing of emotions lately - Harry let himself fall into her arms, her fingers stroking through his hair. She did not stay long; just chastised him for looking like the dead due to his lack of sleep and telling him his daughter was well-asleep, thumb in her mouth, and Harry winced a little - they were trying to get her to stop this habit at this age, however he supposed it was due to his absence that she had started up again. 

He watched his mother leaving, flowers in tow, and placed his meager amount of groceries in the fridge. He climbed the stairs, then, shoes long off as he took off the grey sweatshirt that had become his most comfortable on these flights to and from his home. Following the familiar path, he made a stop at the open door, peeking in. 

She had her fairy lights on, the shadows and colors illuminating her small figure on her toddler-size bed, thumb in her mouth and stuffed animals littering the floor where she must have kicked them off in her sleep. Quiet as anything, Harry toed into the room. He pulled the blanket over her small body, tucking it in and pressing a kiss to her head, her lavender-scented body soap a familiarity of safety and of home. He knew she would always be safe even if he was not there, but he needed to see her to believe it all the same. He longed to stay a little longer, but the pain in his forehead was making itself known and there was nothing he wanted more than to sleep for twelve hours, and she would not know he was there anyway. He stood up, knees cracking, and groaned inwardly as he huffed a little, carrying his sore self into his bedroom. He barely was able to appreciate how warm and safe he felt until he stripped down to just his boxers, falling asleep over the sheets before he could properly finish taking off his other sock, all worry lines freed from his face, because he was home, and he had plenty of socks in his dresser. 

**Author's Note:**

> Have not written in a while hello...........pls be kind


End file.
